


Practical//Magic

by Devil_Theory



Category: Original Work
Genre: Demons, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Just Dubious in General tbh, M/M, Magic, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-07-18 03:20:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16109702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devil_Theory/pseuds/Devil_Theory
Summary: Drawing on a long and cliche history of lazy fantasy worldbuilding for morally inexcusable ends, an irregular author pens the story of Eilyn, Demon Aegis of Flame, and Faine, latest in a long line of prodigy magicians. In their world, hierarchy crushes downward and questions come to unsatisfying answers. This is the world you want. The world you read for. Here, young men struggle because you enjoy their story.But, dear reader, these characters may not be satisfied with the world your author builds. Will you still read if they break it?Note | No explicit sexual content in this story takes place without stated consent. The story itself, however, exists in a context that prohibits informed and full consent. To fans, I ask directly that you accept the same criticism I do in publishing this story, and examine your motivations for doing so. To detractors, I acknowledge the validity of your criticism without acquiescing to it.In the end, this story exists because people will read it. But it belongs to its characters, in whom I place the full measure of my love and contempt.





	1. Wonder

" _See me, see despair,_

_tongues of fire light my hair._

_What mortals burn,_

_my line doth bear._

_Aegis of Flame,_

_Bound by a name."_

 

The words stung worse than the hard spray from the sea as it crashed over the merchants' pier, but Eilyn showed no sign. 

 

"Well, what's that all mean then?" The shorter one said. 

 

The taller, Eilyn knew. He'd met the ship yesterday when the shipment of slaves was brought from the Black Isle. Ignatus, was his name. His helmet bore a mass of runes, but Eilyn could hardly be expected to make them out. Aegis of the flame. He couldn't even read more than a handful of runes. He would've been a slave, even in his home plane. They said every demon was, eventually. It was a lie. These runts, and even their magician lords had no idea the powers that moved in the dark. Not that it mattered. The powerful seemed disinclined to care. They were not the ones in chains. 

 

"It's poetry, m'thinks." Ignatus was an idiot. "They all get one. Never quite worked out of they come from the mages, or," he shrugged. 

 

The shorter one pouted, looking up at Eilyn the same way all the Seconds did. Fear that twisted itself into superiority. "But what does it mean?"

 

Ignatus shrugged. "What do you care for? You in the market?"

 

"Hah!" His partner slapped at a knee with fingers clad in battered tin rings. Tin. Lower order family. Barely above the Ringless. Not even proper spellcasters. Eilyn could kill them, even in chains. The demon's finger twitched. Panic tensed his back. 

 

"What's hah, then?" The motion hadn't been noticed. Eilyn let himself breathe. Carefully, of course. It wouldn't do to make himself seem less than docile. Unbroken demons found masters who enjoyed the breaking. 

 

The shorter man set his hands on his hips and eyed Ignatus with sudden suspicion. "Clear, innit? Can't hardly afford one like this?"

 

Ignatus shrugged and sucked in a snort. "Says you, aye. Not me. I'll have one. Few years of service to the right family. The nobles, see, they get bored of them. New pet every week for some of the rowdier heirs, I hear."

 

"You're full of it." His partner's eyebrows lifted dangerously far up on his creased forehead. "For how much a Black Isle slave costs? Full of it." 

 

Slave. Eilyn didn't let his finger twitch again. 

 

"Suit yourself. No ambition, says I." Ignatus took to surveying the line of captured demons without really looking at them. A jagged smirk rode beneath his helmet. 

 

His partner had to save face. Nothing was more important to humans. It meant more with the higher order magicians, but even the dregs had their plays. The man made a show of looking up at Eilyn. "Wouldn't want one, anyhow. Heard stories, same as you. Just last year, some devil ripped up that Magister's boy--" 

 

"Keep it down, then!" Ignatus gestured emphatically with a finger over his mouth. "We aren't supposed to say things on Magister business. Certainly not in front of this lot. Can't have them riled up."

 

The man spat at Eilyn's feet. Bare feet. Eilyn would never have gone barefoot. "Fine, fine. Nothing to say for these things, though. Black Isle breaks 'em all. Won't even piss without permission. Will you, demon."

 

It took too long for Eilyn to realize the man was speaking to him. Nobody had asked him to talk since he'd been wrenched from-- they spoke at the same time.

 

"No," "Speak up,

then, or I'll beat you for disobedience and put a mark on your record." 

 

"It was speaking, you idiot," Ignatus grumbled. "You ain't putting down any marks that cost Grantianus without good reason." The remark let Eilyn recover from the turn of his stomach that thinking of what a mark this early on could cause.

 

"Oh, shut it." The man looked back at Eilyn. "Well?"

 

"No. No is my humble answer, Lord." 

 

The man grinned. Eilyn imagined his teeth cutting through his tongue. "See?" he said. "No trouble. Less spirit in him than a Ringless."

 

Ignatus frowned. "Thought you were the one saying they were too dangerous to want."

 

His partner stiffened. "Well, for our purposes sure. But the magicians, they like games. Like letting them get personalities before they use them up." 

 

"Which is when they give away the older ones. To loyal servants," Ingnatus nodded. 

 

The two were silent, and Eilyn felt the urge to step on his own foot when a pang of gratitude shot through him. 

 

"Still," Ingnatus muttered finally. "Lot of power, for something destined to wear a collar."

 

His partner nodded in agreement. "I saw the fighting pits uptown. They throw spells you wouldn't believe. Good thing they don't have much fight unless they're commanded. If we had demon uprisings the same way we have with the Ringless," the man whistled. 

 

"That's why the magicians bind demons when they want to keep them. Can't disobey, I hear." Ignatus eyed Eilyn as if looking for a good place to brand him. It took all the demon's focus not to let his nostrils flair. "Some of them end up liking it. Till their owners get bored, least." 

 

"Or faking it. Never can say, with a demon. Not sure if they even like things. Mark my words, though, they do hate. If they had the same freedom as the Ringless, they'd kill the lot of us." 

 

"Watch your words, friend. The magicians prevail."

 

"The magicians prevail," the man echoed quickly. "Of course they do. Always have. Not what I meant." He crossed his arms. "Still. Makes you wonder."

 

"Wonder?"

 

Eilyn's superior hearing alerted him to the approaching party before the two guards. His heart faltered. There were more bidders than he'd expected. And among them, a man in red robes. And silver rings. 

 

"Wonder." Ignatus's partner gave the demon one last stare. "Whether it's worse to have no power, or just not enough." 

 


	2. Hyperion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eilyn's fate comes into focus as he gets his first taste of a new life.

"And they say you're some sort of special creature, do they not?"

 

It was the latest in a litany of questions leveled by the graying mage since Eilyn's purchase. His name was Hyperion, a fact that was thrust upon Eilyn with an appreciable lack of ceremony. He was terse, clinical, but not cruel. It was clear that he belonged to the retinue of some well-known sorcerer family. The other bidders had held back as he took first pick of the merchandise on offer, many of them displaying the characteristic annoyance of people who did not frequently have to wait on others. Eilyn was not sure why Hyperion chose him. He seemed shrewd, and had mentioned once to Ignatus that he did not have much time to bargain. Eilyn was not overly familiar with the way humans conducted their affairs, but the look on the guard's face when Hyperion made his offer told the demon everything he needed to know. The mage, and the people he represented, were not the sort to tolerate inconveniences like haggling. 

 

Eilyn answered as directly and simply as possible. "Yes, sir. It is what they say." 

 

Hyperion turned. After the sale, there had been a few hours of paperwork. Magical contracts, the exchanging of information regarding Eilyn's capture and suspected lineage, as well as several attempts to sell more slaves from previous shipments at discounted rates. Hyperion, it seemed, only came for one in particular. Unlike most of the other buyers, he did not travel with tin-ringed guards. He did not travel with any retinue at all, in fact. Once the work was concluded, he simply snapped his fingers at Eilyn and began to walk. The demon followed, like a lost dog. 

 

"Don't get clever with me, helion. Others might appreciate wit in a slave, but I intend you for a master who will already be ill-tempered to find himself saddled with one of your kind, so it's best for you to answer well, not just correctly." 

 

Like everything Hyperion did, this only confused Eilyn more. What sorcerer would not want a demon's magic to draw on? It didn't matter. Eilyn understood what he meant. He needed to anticipate the answer his captors wanted, not simply give them one that was accurate. Distasteful, but he could appreciate being warned ahead of time. And the fact that he hadn't been punished. With his purchase case an Iodal, the enchanted rod that slave trainers used to keep their charges in line. Or to torture them, in many cases. One tap was all it took, and Eilyn's body would be sore for weeks. The device has stayed firmly tucked into Hyperion's belt, and he had never so much as mentioned it. 

 

"My apologies, sir. You mean to ask if I truly am special. I am not qualified to answer, beyond my own opinion." 

 

He had been led through the magically-maintained roadways of the dock districts. Most of the slave warehouses were there, and the area did little to inspire the floating towers and glowing vistas of the city proper. Vantheon, though not the capital of the Magicians' Empire, was certainly one of its most culturally significant cities. Here, the legends said, the first High Archon of the Empire called down a comet to strike the mouth of a raging volcano. The resulting destruction left an ever-living lake of fire and molten rock at the center of the city, keeping it warm enough to survive the near-permanent winter of the surrounding region. And floating above that lake was the Academy. There were other schools of magic, but none so grand or laissez-faire as the Academy. There, the most promising pupils from the greatest sorcerer clans forged their skills and reputations. Duels were common. Deaths were seen as a simple necessity. Internal wars between rival families raged across generations. And it was there that Hyperion had taken him. 

 

"And what, praytell, is your opinion of yourself?" 

 

The Academy building itself was enough to impress even Eilyn. A palace of marble and multicolored crystal, it left light dancing over the deadly lava beneath its position. Hyperion left him little time to gawk, taking a brisk course up the only stairway into the place. More than sixty feet high and floating on pillars of magical energy, the marble staircase would have left most humans breathless. Hyperion never even seemed to slow down. Most of the major houses, it seemed, had a small area of the Academy sectioned off as a sort of official embassy. The suite Hyperion led him to was one of the largest. It was not a good sign. Any family powerful enough to have such a space could certainly afford another slave.

 

But, despite the urge to inflate his value by assuring Hyperion that he was, in fact, more than most of his kin, Eilyn answered truthfully. "My opinion, sir?" The first words Hyperion had said to him directly were a terse condemnation of the demon's attempts to address him as "Lord," followed by a muttered gripe about the presumptions of tin-rings. "I know that I was not so special as to avoid being here, as I am, with you." 

 

'As he was' meant naked, hands clasped firmly behind his back at Hyperion's order, as it seemed the man's role was to inspect his purchase before passing it along. Eilyn had been frightened, truly, for the first time since his capture, at the loss of his meager slave's rags. The reason was instantly plain when Hyperion saw what lay between his legs. And yet, it had only made the mage hesitate for a moment. 

 

 _"You... have a cunt,"_   Hyperion had said, a thin eyebrow raised. 

 

_"Yes, sir."_

 

 _"Did those tin-rings demand that of you?"_ It was the only time the man had seemed angry. 

 

_"No, sir."_

 

 _"Ah. Then, were they mistaken? About the way you identify yourself?"_ Demons had long held some concept of gender, but it was not quite the same as humans typically preferred. As interactions became more and more common, many of his fellows had become comfortable assuming the roles and bodies of their mortal consorts.  And he had, too, in a manner of speaking. 

 

 _"No. I see myself as... I am a boy, sir. It's only. Well, it's difficult to explain. I can change, if you command."_ Demons could alter their bodies with a few hours of effort. Eilyn had considered it, many times. But he hadn't done it. Why, he couldn't say. It was one of the many things about his relationship with his own physical form that pained him, but not nearly as much as being forced to let it go would. He had no choice, of course. Hyperion would likely not even recognize the cruelty of the demand. 

 

The mage had taken a long moment to answer, before crossing his arms.  _"No, it's all right. I doubt your master will care. But I won't look like a fool  for calling you something you're not."_ He should have hated Hyperion, for many reasons. But in a few words, the man left him at once confused and relieved. What's more, when he caught the mage looking down at his shaking legs, the amusement he expected never came. Hyperion simply pretended not to notice, and turned his back as he went on asking questions. 

 

Now, he seemed to be through, as no more questions came. They were alone in the room, a fairly basic living chamber with a comfortable, but unassuming bed and a smattering of other furniture. Hyperion busied himself with writing notes on the paperwork the slavers had given him, until he finally sighed. 

 

"Well, you're not stupid, aggressive, or ugly. I suppose that will have to do. Now, I expect you'd like some answers as to where your future will take you."

 

Eilyn did not answer. He wanted to say as little as possible, and the words were not explicitly arranged as a question. Fortunately, the mage simply went on in the absence of an objection. "Tonight, you will stay here, in my chambers. You may speak and move freely, though I implore you not to annoy me. My own race does quite enough of that. In the morning, I will take you to meet your new master. He is a student at this academy, and he is not expecting you. I will warn you. He can be... temperamental. And he detests the idea of owning a slave. Even so, I serve his father, and my own Lord Magister insists that his son learn the responsibility of mastering one of your kind. It falls to me to arrange this."

 

Eilyn nodded. It could be worse, he supposed. At least he was not to be used as some sort of spell practice for the academy. "I understand, sir," he said. 

 

"Good," Hyperion replied, shuffling his papers and gesturing to the rags on the ground. "Then get dressed. Your features are not so pleasing that I find them worth your discomfort." 

 

Eilyn did his best not to appear over-eager to redress. But he was. 

 

 


End file.
